A Phone Call Away
by 332249
Summary: A free lance Journalist meets an itinerant Hunter and discover they have a lot to talk about.
1. Type Casting

Chapter One: **Type Casting**

Rory Gilmore knew she had a type. Actually, she bounced back and forth between two types (if her dating history was anything to go by). The first type was tall and sweet, like Dean Forrester. The second type ran more towards bad boy and brilliant, like Logan. The former was good for her but often lacked the intellectual stimulation needed to keep her interested in the relationship. The latter definitely kept her interest... but also had landed her in legal proceedings and probation. So neither type seemed to be capable of longevity.

When she first saw him, she thought he would fall under the tall and sweet category. He was certainly tall (and handsome, obviously). Then she saw the softy sensitive eyes shining in understanding and sincerity. Oh yeah, definitely her first type. Which was actually more than a little refreshing to find in the cut-throat world of political reporters. That alone made Rory resolve to introduce herself (somehow) as soon as he was done getting his quote.

Then she saw it: proof that the man better fit her second type category. When the sincere-eyes failed to dent the politico's impressive armor, the fellow reporter deftly pick-pocketed the other man's wallet and phone. All without loosing the soft expression.

Wow. Now she _really_ wanted to know more about the guy, but for an entirely different reason. Okay, if she was being honest with herself there was _some_ of the original reasoning still there. But now some of her reporter instincts had gotten piqued, too.

Marching up behind him, Rory opened with, "Its probably locked."

The man startled. "Huh?"

Rory smiled, sweet and completely insincere. "The phone you just stole from the senator's aid? Its probably locked, so what was the point? " And, woo boy, up close he was really, _really_ , reminded her of her first boyfriend. It was a combination of the height, the hair, the bone structure, and -be still my quaking knees- the dimples.

After a beat of polite confusion, the innocent expression fell away. "If he's smart, its locked and encrypted."

"So why bother? Or are you just trying to annoy him for brushing you off?" Rory demanded.

He shrugged and tucked the phone and wallet into a jacket pocket. "I can hack it. Phones are never as secure as people think they are."

"That can't be ethical! Or legal!" Rory exclaimed. "Aren't you worried your company will get sued or- or you'll go to jail?"

He laughed - _laughed-_ at her (and yep, there was a little bit Logan in that disdainful dismissal of any and all repercussions.) "No, not really."

"Wow. You're editor must love you to let you get away with that," she noted, thinking of her own editor's strong and loud reaction if anyone ever pulled a stunt like that on his watch. Well... Huh. If anyone ever got _caught_ pulling a stunt like that, she mentally corrected herself. Not that Rory was the type to try. Or had the skills to pull it off.

Rory shook her head out of her thoughts. "Who do you work for anyway?" She reached out and flipped over his press pass. "Sam J. Jameson, Daily Bugle. Daily Bugle? I've never heard of them."

"Its kind of a family business," Sam admitted with some hesitation. For some reason the admission seemed to make him uncomfortable, almost sheepish even. Seriously? Being caught pick-pocketing didn't make a dent. But admitting you work for daddy's paper made him flinch?

Though she had to admit that the worried-puppy look sure looked good on him. Good enough to overlook some minor theft. What was wrong with her? Uhh... she hadn't had any good sex in months? Rory shook herself out of that line of thought. Yay for higher brain functions! And being a responsible adult. She had chosen to follow her career and she had no regrets.

What were they talking about again?

"You okay?" Sam asked, bending over more than a little to get a better look at Rory's face. "You kinda zoned out on me."

The heat from a blush crept across her cheeks. "Oh, umm, I got lost in thought. I guess."

Sam grinned in amusement (dimples!) "You should be careful when you do that. 'The world as we have created it is but a process of our own thinking.' You might change the world without meaning to," he teased.

"Albert Einstein." Rory recognized the quote. "Brilliant man, obviously, but a terrible writer. I always preferred Criss Jami. 'When a poet digs himself into a hole, he doesn't climb out. He digs deeper, enjoys the scenery, and comes out the other side... enlightened.'"

"Venus in Arms," Sam acknowledged. "But you should really consider Jayson Engay: 'Don't think too deep, it leads to over-thinking and over-thinking leads to problems that didn't even exist in the first place.' Like loosing track of the conversation." His eyes twinkled in gentle amusement.

"Touche." Rory laughed. And Good God, she was falling for this guy. Both her types wrapped up in one yummy package: tall, hot, rule-breaker, well-read, and witty.

Sadly, the moment was broken when another man pushed his way into their conversation. "Sam, did you find your guy?" The intruder wore a cheap suit and a matching Daily Bugle press pass that read 'Dean Robertson'.

Undaunted by his bulk, because everyone was bigger than her, Rory inserted herself between the two men to glare at the newcomer and snap: "Excuse me! We were talking."

Dean looked down for the first time to notice her. His eyes racked up and down without lingering over any of her assets too long. "Oh, my apologies. Miss...?"

"Gilmore. Rory Gilmore. Stamford Eagle Gazette."

"My apologies, Miss Rory Gilmore of the Stamford Eagle Gazette, for interrupting. But me and my partner here have a deadline. You understand. But tell you what, let me make it up to you." Dean clapped Sam hard on the back. "Sammy here will take you out to dinner tonight, my treat. Whaddaya say?"

"Dean!" Sam scolded.

"What? A date with a beautiful woman is just what you need to give you a break from all that research you been doing." Dean smiled at Rory, all teeth and humor. "A guy shouldn't spend too much time buried in his laptop, ya know?"

Dinner actually sounded really good to Rory; she could use a break, too. Still, Dean needed to know his place. She put on a haughty expression modeled directly in her grandmother. "That would be acceptable," she sniffed.

Sam glared at his co-worker before turning back to Rory with a much friendlier expression. I guess its a date."


	2. What to Wear

Chapter Two: What to Wear

"Mom! I have nothing to wear!" Rory wailed as soon as the elder Gilmore answered her phone.

"Wow, that must be embarrassing!" Lorelei fired right back. "I can't imagine wandering around, stark naked, trying to get a quote for your article like that. Unless the article is about naked people, I guess. Is the article about naked people?"

"Mom!" Rory whined, dragging the one syllable out into three.

Undeterred, Lorelei kept going. "Aren't you cold? You're always cold when you're at home and fully dressed. I bet being stark naked is freezing!"

"Why is Rory naked?" Luke's voice filtered through the phone's speaker, quiet but still intelligible. Although, he didn't sound particularly worried about the apparent state of undress of his girlfriend's daughter. But then, Luke never sounded particularly worried about much.

"I don't know yet," Lorelei told him before turning her attention back to the phone. "And if you're naked, what are you clipping your press pass to? Where are you keeping your pen and paper for taking notes?"

"Mom!" Rory snapped.

"Well, I guess you could still be carrying a purse even if you were naked." Lorelei carried blithely on. "Wow, hun, I hope it a really, really big purse. Big enough to hide behind big. I bet Gucci sells that size."

"MOM!" Rory bellowed into her phone in a desperate bid to derail her mother's running gag.

"What? You started it."

"I have a date tonight, but I didn't pack any date clothes. All I have is professional, business clothes. Why didn't I pack any date clothes?" Rory flung a handful of tasteful button-ups across her room and collapsed onto her bed.

"Uh, because you needed to live light and on the move, so you only packed the essentials," Lorelei reminded helpfully. "You even left behind the complete dictionary that your dad bought you. We both know how much you love that dictionary."

"Yeah, yeah. Yay for me being a practical, professional adult." Rory groused. "That doesn't change the fact that I have no date clothes. None of my work clothes are cute enough for a date. What was I thinking? One, one, little black dress wouldn't have weighed me down."

Unseen by her daughter, Lorelei smiled. "Do you still have the teddy bear I gave you?"

"Mr. McStuffins?" Rory blinked. "The toy you insisted I take with me even though I'm an adult and when you knew I was traveling light? The stuffed animal that embarrasses me every time a co-worker comes back to the room to work on a shared project. That Mr. McStuffins?"

"Mmm," Lorelei agreed happily. "Very special stuffin'. There's Velcro in his back."

Rory sat the phone down to investigate the toy. The secret pocket opened to reveal that most of the stuffing was in fact a gorgeous little, black dress. "Mom!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"The perfect little, black dress," Lorelei informed her. "Classy enough to be formal. Simple enough to be casual. Made from this alien material that can shake out the wrinkles on short notice. Throw in some pearls and you are go to go, kid."

Rory squealed in delight. "Have I ever told you that you are the best mom ever in the whole wide world?"

"Yeah," Lorelei sighed happily, "but you can always say it again."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are the best mom in the whole wide world!"

"Uh-huh. And don't you forget it!" Lorelei chirped. She shoveled a fork full of dinner into her mouth. "So big date tonight?" she slurred around the food.

Luke pulled the plate away.

Lorelei glared.

"Eat or Talk. Not both," he ordered.

"Yep, another reporter." Rory's voice came through muffled as she shimmied out of her pant suit and into the dress, unaware of the Luke's Diner Drama.

"Does this reporter have a name?" Lorelei demanded while trying to spear another bite from her plate as Luke tried to fend her off.

"Sam Jameson. He works for The Daily Bugle, which I've never heard of before."

Lorelei grinned. "Ooh. So is Mr. Jameson of The Daily Bugle cute?"

Luke snorted loud enough to be heard over the phone. "There's some irony for you. I wonder if he did that on purpose."

"What?" both Gilmores demanded.

"Applied to a place called Daily Bugle." At Lorelei's blank look he felt compelled to explain. "You know, Jay Jonah Jameson, editor of The Daily Bugle. Its from the Spiderman comics."

Lorelei gasped in mock horror. "You, Luke Danes, the single most grounded guy I know, are a closet comic book nerd? How did I not know this? Did you have the whole collection in your mom's basement? Do you still have it?" With another gasp, as though the thought just hit her, she leaned forward to ask in a stage whisper, "Do you ever wear a spandex body suit and a cape?"

Luke shot his girlfriend an unappreciated look. "I have work to do," he deadpanned and walked away with her dinner plate.

Lorelei reached towards the half-eaten plate with a useless whimper. Deprived of the rest of her food she called to his back: "I want to see you in those spandex later!"

"Mom!" Rory scolded. "I did not need that visual!"

"Sorry, sorry. Where were we? Oh, yeah. Is he cute?"

"Soo cute," Rory gushed. "And a really hard core investigative journalist."

"Ah, but is he a good writer?" Lorelei asked.

"I should Google him."

"Yeah, do that," Lorelei agreed. "It's called 'date safety' instead of 'cyber stalking' when girls do it."

Rory rolled her eyes even as she typed. "Huh. That's weird. All I'm getting are Spiderman references. No mention of a Sam Jameson by-line anywhere."

Lorelei shrugged. "So he's either a comic book nerd who started an on-line paper or he hasn't made a name for himself yet. Ask him about it on the date."

"Right. Conversation point." Rory nodded to herself.

"Oh, and hon?"

"Yeah, mom?"

"Don't freak yourself out too much. Try to have fun."

Rory huffed a relieving laugh. "I will. Love you, mom."

"Love you, too. Call me with the juicy details after."

"Naturally."

Lorelei hung up her phone. "Luke? LUKE! Bring my dinner back! Luke!"


	3. Santa Dean

Chapter Three: Santa Dean

Winchesters specialize in attempting the impossible: killing the unkillable, stopping the unstoppable, dealing with the unmanageable. When other Hunters are over-matched, they call in the Winchester Boys as the cavalry. But not even the legendary Sam Winchester could sneak into a motel room, past his wide awake brother who was sitting upright on the bed nearest the door. Still awake... at two in the morning.

Dean looked up from his repair projects to great his returning brother with a lecherous grin. But he took one look at Sam, and his face fell. "Dude! Lois Lane was practically drooling all over your press pass and you _still_ didn't score? How are we even related?"

Sam closed his eyes for a moment to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught that was Dean Winchester's teasing. How did he always know? Dean had known with one look when Sam had come home from loosing his virginity as a teenager. And he'd always known every time a girl in school was that kind of interested in Sam, even when Dean was twenty and never set foot in the high school. Hell, the guy even knew when Sam had found his porn stash as a pre-teen. He _always_ knew.

"We talked," Sam told him before he ducked into the bathroom to hide as best he could.

"You talked," Dean repeated. He checked the clock on the nightstand. "For six hours?" he called through the closed door.

Forehead pressed against the mirror, Sam wished the subject would miraculously drop, but he knew his brother better than that. He went ahead and pasted his toothbrush. "Yes, we talked for six hours. All night. At the restaurant until they closed and then at the coffee shop until they closed."

"You talked." Dean had to mull that over. Sam could practically hear the gears whirring in his head as he tried to process the statement. Trying and utterly failing to comprehend the concept. "What could you possibly been talking about for six hours?"

Sam gargled and spat. "A lot."

"Yeah, but about _what_?" Dean persisted.

Sam threw open the bathroom door. Clearly he was not getting out of one more conversation tonight. "First of all, she called me on the fake press pass. The Spiderman reference kinda gave me away, dude. I had to tell her I was a private investigator instead, using the fake ID to get more out of the senator's aid."

"Okay, nice recovery. And after those five minutes?"

"She's a Yale woman," Sam offered. "So we compared schools and the college experience."

"Yawn. Come on, man. There had to be something interesting in six hours."

"There was," Sam defended. "Like: Does the government have the right or the responsibility to legislate what people do that harm themselves and _only_ themselves? And if they do harm themselves, is the same government required to help that person recover? Or are legislators allowed, expected even, to let the individual deal with his or her own consequences?"

Dean, predictably, went quiet and he tried to process the question. Which gave Sam time to grab his sleeper pants and shirt then slip back into the bathroom to change. By the time he came out again, his brother had thought it out.

"So, it would be like... if a moron wants to hock his soul at the crossroads, as long as the trade doesn't hurt anyone but the moron, should Hunters try to stop him? And if he does make a Deal, do us Hunters try to save him from the hellhounds or not? Considering it was clearly the moron's choice to be on the hot seat."

Dean's question made Sam pause. Every now and then, Sam caught himself forgetting exactly how smart and adaptable Dean was. Lack of formal education did not mean dumb. "Huh. Yeah, that's pretty much the debate." Reworded in Hunting terms, true, but essentially the same question.

"What did you all decide?" Dean asked, honestly curious now.

Sam laughed. "We didn't _decide_ anything. That wasn't the point. We happen to enjoy a good academic debate. There doesn't have to be a decision- or a winner- in a conversation."

"My god, you are a nerd," the older brother scoffed. "A nerd who couldn't even get laid. I'm embarrassed for you, Sammy. He pointed an accusing finger in Sam's direction. "Embarrassed," he emphasized.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever. How do you know, anyway? You always know. You're like... the Santa Claus of sex."

"Well, ho-ho-ho, Sammy. Someone has not been a bad enough boy tonight," Dean teased with a shit-eating grin.

Sam scowled. "Says the guy going all Julia Child on the laundry!" He gestured at the several pairs of jeans and shirts littering Dean's bed. "Doesn't that make you the bigger girl here?"

The grin fell away to be replaced by a disapproving and scolding expression. "First of all, Julia Child is a french chef who wrote some delicious recipes. Do not mock Julia Child. Second of all, I think the woman you are thinking of is Martha Stewart. She's the crafty one who can make anything out of anything. Seriously, she like the MacGyver of middle class white women. And lastly, you better be damn grateful that I know what I'm doing with a sewing needle, or your favorite jeans here," he chucked the offending denim at Sam's head, "would have been toast months ago."

It was true. As much as Dean liked to project the macho-man image, a lifetime on a budget taught the older Hunter more about cleaning and repairing clothes than most stay-at-home moms. He could patch denim jeans, reattached popped buttons, overstitch unraveling tartan flannel; hell, the guy could even darn their socks.

Sam sighed. Dean had always done the 'mom' chores growing up. It was kind of a dick move to give him crap about it. "Sorry, man," he apologized.

"Whatever." Which was Dean-speak for "Apology accepted."

Both men settled into their respective beds for the night and Dean flicked off the light.

"Did you get her number, at least?" Dean's voice asked softly in the dim. "So you can get your geek on long distance?"

Sam huffed. "Yes, Dean. I did."

"Good." Dean drifted off to sleep.

(…)

Dean woke up as Sam tried to sneak back into the room. Judging from the amount of light streaming through the few inches of doorway and around the curtains, early afternoon had arrived. With it would come the need to vacate the room or pay for the next day. Even so, Dean decided not to stir.

Sam was trying to _sneak_ back into the room. Sam didn't sneak if it was that late in the day. Sam threw the door open with a bang in order to startle his dear, big brother awake.

If he was sneaking around that could only mean...

He cracked one eye open a faction to check on his brother. Yep.

With a small grin, Dean started singing softly. "He sees you when you you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be _bad_ for goodness sake!"

Sam threw a pillow at his brother.

"Score some good-bye after-breakfast nookie, Sammy?" Dean laughed. "We are related!"

"I hate you."

"I know." Dean rolled over and snuggled deeper into his pillow. "I always know, Sammy."


	4. Got It Bad

Chapter Four: She's Got It Bad

Luke Danes finally conceded to the change in the times and bought himself a computer. It made sense as a business investment to order supplies and coordinate with vendors. He never intended to give out his password and open his WiFi to any Tom, Dick, or Harriette who wandered into his Diner. He knew, without having to experience it first hand, that free WiFi could only lead to clogged tables of people NOT eating while on their gadgets. And Luke didn't need the stress of clogged tables not bringing in revenue enough to afford his internet.

He never intended to give out the password, but somehow it had happened anyway...

"Luke!" Kirk whined as he stood in the proprietor's way.

Luke pivoted around the scrawny man, while skillfully keeping all of the food in place on the plates in hand. "I'm busy, Kirk," he grumbled on the way past.

"You're always busy," Kirk pointed out calmly as he followed. "If I waited for you to be not-busy, I might as well move into the diner. And Lulu might not like that."

"I would not like that!" Luke set the orders in front of the paying customers then turned to face his stalker. Giving up one minute would get rid of him a lot faster than trying to dodge him forever. "What do you want, Kirk?"

"Rory is using her laptop in your diner," Kirk all but tattled.

Sure enough, Rory Gilmore occupied the corner of the bar (nearest the coffee) typing away.

Luke rolled his eyes and started walking again. Minute over. "Yes, she is."

Kirk followed. "Her laptop is connected to your internet service."

"Yes, it is," Luke agreed while scooping up menus for his new arrivals.

"You won't let me use your internet," Kirk complained, still on his heels.

Luke dropped the menus on the table and told the customer that the waitress would be right with them. Then to Kirk he continued, "No, I won't."

Rory looked up from the offending laptop to smile at Kirk. "Luke isn't dating your mother."

Luke scoffed a laugh. "Thank God for that."

Kirk bristled. "Is there something wrong with my mother?"

"She has you for a son, doesn't she?" Luke shot back.

Kirk froze to process the thought.

Taking the reprieve from Kirk's harassment, Luke turned to shoot his most displeased and annoyed look at the youngest Gilmore. "You are setting a bad example."

"I know, but I'm getting so much work done!" Rory beamed. "Which is exactly why I came back to visit in Stars Hollow. There's just something about the atmosphere around here that helps me get some serious writing done."

Luke snorted. "Uh-huh." He set a plate loaded with fresh french fries in front of her. "Atmosphere, huh?" he drawled.

"Brain food!" Rory squealed delightedly. Just before the first fry hit her mouth, her phone trilled in her purse. With a hungry groan, she set it back down. When her editor called, he expected her to answer and give him an update.

Luke jerked a reminding thumb at the no cell phones sign still adorning his wall, even after all these years, for all his patrons to see.

Rory's face lit up with excitement. "It's Sam!" she squealed and rushed her ringing phone out the door.

Calmly, Luke reached over to jab the save icon on the abandoned laptop before closing the lid.

Babette and Miss Patty magically appeared from wherever it was that the two biggest gossips in town kept themselves while not sniffing out the next juicy rumor floating around the town.

"Hey, Luke, honey," Miss Patty purred, ready to butter up her potential news source. She choose to ignore the inconvenient fact that Luke Danes was one of the most difficult men in town to successfully butter up; and it had only gotten worse after he and Lorelei finally became an item.

Babette, however, had no patience for the lost cause of a soft approach. "Holy Cow! Did you see that?! A Gilmore left behind an entire plate full of fried food!"

"Free fried food," Miss Patty added knowingly. The whole town knew of the diner owner's soft spot for the girl and his habit of giving her the same benefits as an employee.

"She didn't even hit save on her story before- Ptoo!" Babette slapped her hands together to mimic the sound of a gunshot. "-out like a shot!"

"Poor dear must think people would eavesdrop or something," Miss Patty sniffed... while poking around at the notes Rory left out beside her computer.

Luke snatched up the loose papers and tucked them away behind the counter. For safe-keeping.

"So, Give!" Babette demanded. "Who's this Sam character?"

"I'm working." Luke turned his back on the women to scoop up the next set of meals to be delivered to their table.

The gossip pair turned their gaze to the big window where they could still see the happy grin on Rory's face as she talked. And the way she seemed to glow with happiness.

"Oh, yeah," Babette commented to her friend. "She's got it bad."

Just then, Lorelei waltzed past her daughter, who pointed at her phone and mouthed "Sam." The mother nodded with a knowing grin and strutted past to go inside. She helped herself to a large cup of coffee (Luke was clearly too busy to serve her) and then settled in to her daughter's abandoned seat. Fresh, hot french fires began to disappear from the plate.

Miss Patti and Babette moved as a unit to bracket the best source of Rory Gilmore inside information. Lorelei startled at the twin thumps of butts hitting chairs.

"Ummm... Hi?"

"Hi, sugar," Babette greeted cheerily.

"We couldn't help but notice that Rory seems a little... preoccupied out there," Miss Patty gestured through the glass, where the young woman in question laughed and shook her head at the phone.

"Okay?" Lorelei trailed off, honestly not sure where this was going.

"Oh, come one, Lorelei!" Babette rolled her eyes. "Who the heck is Sam? And if Rory likes him that much-" she jerked a finger at the window, "-how come you haven't told us about the guy?"

"Rory's still talking to Sam?" Luke's voice interrupted.

Lorelei huffed. If Luke, Mr. Mind Your Own Business, was on the same side as the gossips in demanding the story, she'd never get out of here without telling them something. "Sam is a private investigator that Rory met a few months ago when he was pretending to be a reporter. I've never met him, but Rory says he's a nice guy. Both of their jobs take them all over the country, so they talk on the phone a lot. That's it. He's the phone version of a pen pal."

"Ooh, a private dick!" Miss Patty smiled to herself, the smile that said she was thoroughly enjoying the steamy images running through her head.

Everyone left her to her daydreams.

"So, Sam Jameson of the Daily Bugle really was a spiderman joke?" Luke asked.

"Yeah, his real name is Sam Winchester. Apparently, he's a Stanford man, a great conversationalist, and a worthy opponent in a debate,"Lorelei expounded. "They call each other back and forth to chat; and now and then help each other out with research projects. Sam is pretty good with a computer, she says."

Luke did not look satisfied. But then, he never looked satisfied when Rory caught and held a boy's interest. None of them ever measured up to Luke Danes' exacting standards. Especially not one who was lying about his job and very name when she met him.

"Luke." Lorelei demanded her boyfriend's attention. "Rory says that Sam made it clear: he's too busy and moves around too much, too fast to be interested in anything more than casual friendship. Okay? They're just friends."

Luke grunted in what might have been acknowledgment, disagreement, disgruntlement, or an aborted belch. It was a skill: ambiguous grunting. Then Cesar dinged the order bell and Luke was off again.

"Sugar." Babette's voice came out oddly gentle as it pulled Lorelei's attention back. "I'm sure that's what this Sam fella said; and I'm sure that Rory believed him when he said it. But... oh, honey. Look at the girl's face."

The three women turned to watch the youngest Gilmore as she talked, to watch the blissful expression on her face and the way her whole body was focused on the phone, on Sam's voice.

"He may say they're phone friends... but Rory? That girl is falling hard and fast." Babette told them.

Lorelei watched her daughter with new eyes, seeing what Babette saw.

And worried.

The way only a mother can.

.

Beside them, Kirk stirred to life. "Luke!" he called. "You cannot date my mother!"

Luke glared from across the diner. "I'm heartbroken," he drawled.

"But its still not fair that I can't use your WiFi!" Kirk complained.

Finally, Luke gave the townsman his full attention. "Kirk. You don't own a computer, or a laptop, or a smart phone. It is physically impossible got you to use my WiFi."

Kirk wilted. "Oh."


End file.
